


an enemy of my enemy

by dragonwrote



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, LaCroix Lives Somehow AU, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2019-11-05 00:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwrote/pseuds/dragonwrote
Summary: LaCroix survives the explosion at the end of VTM:B and finds there is no longer a place for him in the Camarilla.Alliances change frequently among kindred, but approaching Nines Rodriguez with a truce might be one of LaCroix's more risky ventures.Edit 9/15/2019: Chapter 2 added!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been working on snippets of this incredibly indulgent future au idea I have where LaCroix lives and is forced into an alliance with Nines Rodriguez...its not neccessarily super IC, and its mostly an excuse to have them interact, so i probably wont ever finish this into a complete thing BUT. 
> 
> i thought i would still publish this as a standalone in case theres a small chance theres another person out there still not over vtmb...to the one person still purusing this archive in 2019 this ones for u my friend

 

Nines is still holding the gun up at him, aimed straight at his head, "I don't trust you."

Lacroix wants to laugh at it all, as if he chose to come to Nines Rodriguez of all people with a truce because of something as fickle as trust. No, Lacroix is a cornered animal running out of options  and the absurdity of the situation is not lost on him. He scoffs: "Trust? Don't be quaint Mister Rodriguez, this isn't about trust, this is about a …mutual understanding of our overlapping interests."

Nines doesn't seem convinced  but Lacroix does not back down, looking directly at him as he  continues," If you need to trust in something, trust that I am self-interested and that currently, it is in my best interest that California remain an Anarch Free State."

Their cooperation seems such an  obvious solution him that Lacroix finds he has to hide his frustration at the other man's hesitation. But then again, they did have a very steady rivalry going before his unfortunate torpor. Oh, and he had tried to kill him however creatively. He wonders when that one will come up. 

It doesn't yet, instead Rodriguez just looks at him, "God, you're such a fucking capitalist." Well, yes.

He opens his mouth to retort but stops himself when he sees Rodriguez fingers itching onto the trigger. Lacroix raises his hands slowly as Rodriguez begins to speak, "You do remember that last time you wanted a truce, it didn't go so well for me. I should kill you right now and be done with it…who's to say you won't try to kill me again the moment I get in the way of your 'interests'.

Ah, there it is. Lacroix doubts  he will actually shoot him, but just in case he's already planning out his exit strategy. He grimaces as he tries to mend the situation, "I made decisions and suffered their consequences. I bore the weight every leader does when it comes time to act. Was it ideal? No but be practical: I'm offering help you can't afford to turn down." 

Nines  expression stays angry but Lacroix does not allow himself to panic; he had figured this would be the initial reaction, it's the only sensible reaction and if Rodriguez was a bit more ruthless (or perhaps a bit wiser) then he wouldn't be hesitating to take the shot. Lacroix is preparing himself for the worst  when the angry expression falls and Nines slowly lowers his gun,

"You really can't go back to the Camarilla, huh?"

Lacroix bristles at the reminder that yes,  he had indeed sealed his own fate, "Even if my crimes  were somehow forgiven, the elders would not allow such a show of… ambition to live. They find it personally threatening."

"Personally threatening, huh? I hate to say I agree," he says looking at Lacroix analytically, as if he's trying to peel back his skin and see if what's inside is worth salvaging. The gun is down, but the threat still hangs in the straight line of Nines' shoulders and  in every small step he takes closer to the other man. He's looming, a show of their size difference and a reminder that despite Rodriguez's relative youth, he would have the advantage were they to fight hand-to-hand.  He is all muscle and Brujah strength and Lacroix finds his only choice to bare his neck to the pack leader, in hopes his submission is enough to momentarily sate whatever lust for revenge still grips his once enemy.

He despises the situation he finds himself in, yet he knows all paths that end with his survival now involve such groveling, and it is a cruel joke of fate that begging to Nines Rodriguez is the less precarious of his options.

"You'll forgive me if I find it hard to believe that this is the only choice you have - why not leave the country?  Start over? Why come back here?" 

Lacroix wants to laugh, absurdly, his situation is truly a doomed one. He looks at Nines head on, instinctively moving closer as if to answer a challenge, "You mean try out my luck in Sabbat territory and let the doomsday cult barbarians try and rip me apart? Anywhere else in the world and the Camarilla would find me, and even if they didn't I would be constantly running from my past." 

"So coordinating an Anarch revolt is better?"

"The jyhad is in my blood. Regardless of what I do, I am cursed to struggle until the night of my final death," he retorted, aiming a cold glare at the taller kindred, "I can't escape that fate any more than you can. Just as you will be fighting for your Anarch free state till it smothers you in a violent, bloody end."

His words hang in the air between them with a tension, and Lacroix would hold his breath if he had breath to hold. Nines' deciding stare pierces him like a cold knife at his throat. 

Nines lifts his balled fist up and slams it against the brick wall behind Lacroix and Lacroix barely holds back his flinch.

"You're insane, you know that right?" Nines says and he's crowding now, invading Lacroix's space and pushing him back against the wall by his collar as he speaks. In another, the tactic might have come off as cheap and ultimately ineffective, but Nines’ anger was never anything but real and genuine burning.

"If this going to work, I'm going to want 100% transparency from you - I want to know your plans, the details of those plans and where and when you're getting your information. If I find out you're lying to me about anything at all - even about who you had for dinner - I'll rip your goddamn throat out."

He takes a step back, letting go of the other man's collar, "Is that clear?"

"Very much so." 

Lacroix tries to school his expression and calmly smooth his now-wrinkled collar.  He still watches warily, not wanting to claim victory so soon, "You understand I am doing this for survival, yes? I want your word that you won't kill me, or order your followers to kill me," he hesitates a moment before continuing, "If we secure this victory for the Anarchs, I want to be left alone."

Nines raises an eyebrow at him, slight disbelief in his gaze, "You're not really in a position to be making demands, I’d watch your tone if I were you." 

Lacroix bristles at the reprimand and before he can open his mouth and say something regretful, Nines concedes, "To make that promise I'm going to need firsthand proof you're genuine. If we ever actually get to that point then yeah, I won't kill you but I don't want to see hide nor hair of you - I don't want to hear about you up to your old shit and I want you out of L.A., those are my final conditions."

Lacroix feels something sharp like relief but does not allow it settle, "Once this is over, you'll never see me again." He finds he means this, revels in this fantasy he has bargained for himself where he'll slip away up North perhaps, find his own domain to settle in away from Nines, away from the Camarilla, where he can live out the rest of nights with some dignity until their progenitor decides to finally rise and eat them all whole.

Lacroix holds out a tentative hand for Nines to shake, a symbolic gesture to cement their uneasy alliance. Nines face is hard and he takes the other man's hand as if it makes him angry. In that moment, Lacroix can't help but think how they are doomed to eventually kill each other, all their interactions leading to their eventual cataclysm. He knows the meeting of their dead flesh means nothing and the words they speak even less. He almost feels the wrapping of Nines hands around his throat, a phantom of anticipation, of potential.

Kill or be killed, Lacroix thinks, and imagines the inevitable, bloody fight where they both take each other down, scratching and screaming, two stars never meant to be in each other’s orbit for the certainty of their collision. Still, he resolves to hold his cards close to his chest and to maximize the benefits of their alliance for however long it should last.

“The MacNiels are planning on setting fire to the Last Round…Warn the allies you trust the most but you cannot return there,” Lacroix says before adding pensively, “I doubt it will be their last attempt to kill you.” 

“How do you know?” Nines asks back neutrally, perhaps already having used up what remains of his shock for the night.

Lacroix thinks strategically about how much he necessarily wants to reveal, not wanting to make his position in their relationship more vulnerable than it already is.

“The camarilla leadership next door is monitoring the situation…fanning the flames if you will. I still have access to certain files and correspondences. Intense fractures in Los Angeles allegiance would be what spurs them to move in once again, especially now with the consolidating of San Francisco.”

"I would think at this point the Camarilla is stretching itself too thin."

"It is. The final nights are plunging all our factions into chaos."

Lacroix is unsure if Nines appreciates the severity of his words, if he catches the undercurrents of doomsaying and the shadow of Gehenna he feels rattling around deafeningly in his skull.

"This isn't new to me, you know. L.A. has always been disputed territory and the Anarch Free State is always going to be fought for." 

All the causes of Kindred require sacrifices. It made the former Prince wonder his supposed death ranked on the scale of major tipping points and moments of crucial upheaval in such an chaotic history.

"Yet still, there hasn't been another moment in kindred history such as this one," he says, an acknowledgement of the omens and blood that have piled up around him. 

Nines reacts to this with a grave expression but does not comment further. Instead, to Lacroix's surprise, he begins to walk away.

"Where are you-"

"I have things I need to do and people to talk to, if you're telling me the truth," he says, looking back at him once more, "you knew where I was going to be tonight to talk me so I assume you've been following me or at the least keeping tabs. I figure with that info you can also contact me tomorrow night with were to meet you to plan out what our next steps are."

Lacroix nods his head mutely, slightly unsettled  at Nines blatant reading of their circumstance. Nines takes this as his cue to leave, walking away with out another backwards glance. He watches the other man go and feels the weight of their encounter like an ominous foreboding.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ACTUALLY have so much written for this universe but felt i needed to post this chapter first to add a little more context. I will probably never get too deep into plot, just enough to write the scenes i want...hope its still enjoyable? the rest will be part of a series...
> 
> thanks for all the comments on the last chapter!!! im really glad people found this concept interesting, and i still feel nervous about sharing it because im self conscious about my writing but i hope yall keep getting something out of this :)
> 
> some canon characters from the books mentioned, some OCs

When Nines gets into his car later that night, he feels like he dreamed up the whole scenario, that perhaps it was a fevered hallucination conjured up by a mind under duress. It would make sense that the memory of Lacroix would only present itself to him in troubled times, as Los Angeles' latest conflict approached its climax. These are the only times he would even consider not taking the opportunity to see the Venture die a second, or rather third, death - when he, himself starts seeing the obvious cracks in the foundation of his city.  
  
The times were getting darker, and though he didn't believe the stories of Caine raining down blood were anything more than Camarilla scare tactics, he trusted his intuition like it was a honed radar. It's all in how the air goes still and the tides recede in the moments of quiet before a storm is going to hit. It felt like the city was holding its breath and a blown-up sarcophagus wasn't enough to liberate it.  
  
Perhaps that's why he was so quick to dwell on Lacroix's words; the information he gave didn't seem wrong, seemed very much in the realm of possibility according to his own intelligence. Though, it could be it was Lacroix himself that the persistent feeling in his gut was trying to warn him about, not the MacNiels.  
  
He grips his steering wheel a little tighter.  
  
He waits in traffic anxiously, pulling out his small phone and fiddling with the buttons until he was making a call. The dial tone rings only for a few beats before he's greeted by a familiar voice.  
  
"Nines, what's up?" Damsel says over the poor quality sound of his phone.  
  
"Where are you right now?"  
  
"Home, I mean the Last Round. Where else?"  
  
He debates for a second, then another, "You need to get out of there, right now."  
  
"What? Why?" the alarm in her voice raises quickly.  
  
"I heard a tip that the MacNiels are going to try and attack the Last Round. I don't know if it's true but things are so tense I'd rather be safe than sorry."  
  
Damsel is quiet for a moment.  
  
"Alright," she says. Since the business with the sarcophagus, she'd been less quick to snap at him, more eager to heed his warnings. It's not typical of the youth, though he figures he's always been a bit of an exception to Damsel's behavior.  
  
"I'll warn Skelter and the others - we'll go to the safe house in Hollywood."  
  
"Good, good," he says, but mostly to himself, "I'll be there too."  
  
He hangs up the phone before saying anything else and pulls off the interstate. It's late enough that there isn't a lot of traffic but even so Los Angeles by night still hums with activity; Nines knows the fastest routes so it doesn't take very long to get where he's going and before long he's in a back alley behind a club in Downtown, car parked nearby. It's a weekday and the crowds are thinned out by the collective obligation so there's no bouncer to give him any trouble. It makes it easy, too, to find exactly who's he's looking for - a fledgling vampire he knows too well, sitting in a dark booth in the back whispering into the ear of a girl who looks all too pleased with the fact.  
  
Well, she's hardly a fledgling anymore. She's made it quite the ways since Nines stepped in between her and an execution and since a certain prince held her on a tight leash.  
  
She catches his eyes at a distance and doesn't stop what she's doing even when Nines is standing right in front of them. He interjects with a firm, "Excuse me".  
  
The kine that had been making herself comfortable in the fledgling's lap, looks up at Nines, annoyed, "Do you know this guy!?"  
  
"I do, unfortunately," the fledging sighs, "Give us a second, dear? Tell the bartender your next drink is on me."  
  
The concession seems to soothe her upset and she stumbles up and away from them. The fledgling, however, still wears her irritation like it might spare her.  
  
"Are you drunk?" Nines asks.  
  
"Not drunk enough for whatever it is your about to tell me, I'm sure," she cuts back.  
  
Nines ignores her, and takes the now empty seat beside her, "This one's important, Leo."  
  
"Everyone thinks what they have to say is important. If it's not you, it's Strauss, or Isaac or Gary. No one ever wants to just give me a day off -"  
  
"Leo. I saw LaCroix tonight."  
  
He's glad to rip off the band-aid per se because he can see in how quickly she stills that this will affect her. But how could it not? When LaCroix fell, he left all sorts of scars on all sorts of people - but on her more than most.  
  
"You're lying," she says.  
  
"You know I wouldn't."  
  
She looks distressed, "I know you wouldn't."  
  
She stands up to pace around the area, "But how? Are you sure it's him?"  
  
"I am. He…talked to me," he says, but it sounds incredulous to his ears despite its truth.  
  
She spins around to look at him, familiar anger in her eyes, "You talked to him but didn't just kill the bastard?"  
  
He's honestly as surprised as she as is, but he's still blaming it on the shock of it all. But in reality, he thinks he's never been as brutal as people have perceived him to be. That, or perhaps Jack had been right and he was getting too soft.   
  
"I will," he says, sudden anger spiking less at the fledgling and more at himself, "make no mistake about that, but there's something I need from him first."  
  
She's tapping her foot off beat to the music of the club, her anxiety seeking outlets with an unhidden twinge of desperation, "Let me guess, he has information, or blackmail, or something."  
  
"I just need to see if he's lying -"  
  
"He's always lying."  
  
"But on the off-chance that he's telling the truth, I want everything he knows," Nines says. Before Leo can voice another complaint, "I told him I wouldn't kill him, but he's too dangerous to keep alive. I've already learned my mistake."  
  
He's not speaking lightly when he speaks of breaking a promise, but it's no less than the man deserves. Leo appraises him as if to make sure Nines isn't lying to her, and that he's still as unforgiving about his morals as he's always been.  
  
She sits back down and they're silent for a moment that hangs tensely in the space between them.  
  
"So what do you want from me?" she finally asks.  
  
"I'm not planning on telling anyone else yet. I don't know who else he's spoken to or if he's working with anyone else so we should keep it on the down-low…but still, I need someone to know what's up if things get ugly."  
  
"In case he backstabs you, you mean. Which he will," she says.  
  
He idly strokes his face,  grim, "Yeah. I also want you to try to see if anyone else knows anything - discreetly", he puts a hand on her shoulder, "you're neutral, there are more places you can go."  
  
The fledgling is still frowning but her shoulders have slumped in an inevitable acceptance, "Yeah…I guess I can go talk to Gary."  
  
He squeezes her shoulder in appreciation, "Thanks. I mean it, kid."  
  
The smile she gives him is forced and Nines would perhaps feel guilt in how he corners her if he didn't think it to be necessary. He's been driven to do far worse things out of survival and politics, and he's comforted knowing she's made of things between iron and steel, stable and tough. This was something she more than anyone deserved to know.  
  
She'll be alright.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
He gets a call first thing in the evening, as he's coming out of the shower of the Hollywood motel he is temporarily calling haven. LaCroix is as curt as he expects and gives little more than the location and time where they should meet. The anger the fledgling inspired strokes away at his bloodlust, a poker kindling a flame, and when he relays the information back to her, he thinks of blood and death not his own, but by his hand.  
  
"Watch yourself with him, Nines," she tells him over the phone.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, he's a snake. Trust me, I know," he responds before he hangs up.  
  
There's little he does to prepare for the meeting other than making sure his guns are loaded and that his pocket knife is easily accessible. But he still feels restless, arrives at downtown early to scope out the area where LaCroix wants to meet - the lounge of a swanky hotel where if Nines were the type to care about that sort of thing, he would feel underdressed.  
  
The lounge is dimly lit and well crowded, a singer with a jazzy kind of voice was center stage but the music wasn't loud enough to overwhelm and conversations still happened in a murmur. He catches Lacroix seated in the farthest back booth, watching the performance and Nines' brain still registers him as some sort of mirage.  
  
He steels himself and approaches. Nines can see the way LaCroix tenses in recognition but commends him for not breaking eye contact.  
  
"Rodriguez."  
  
"LaCroix."  
  
He slides into the corner booth next to the other man, keenly aware of the strategic choice of the crowded venue. Can't kill him, when he's surrounded by kine.  
  
"Let's get right to it," he starts, before LaCroix can make any attempt at small talk, "You've got five minutes before I decide whether or not this was worth it. If I were you, I'd start spinning this story real fast."   
  
"Generous," LaCroix says, as he opens his suitcase and pulls out a laptop, swiftly opening it and typing in a password.  
  
It feels eerily similar to the start of a business meeting; LaCroix is still in a sharp suit and though he forwent the tie, he holds himself with the practiced tension of presentation.  
  
"I started gathering information as soon as I was well enough, which is when I became convinced the state of L.A. was deteriorating far too fast. While I was Prince, we eliminated whole Sabbat cells but in a matter of months pass and suddenly back full-force? In an area where they haven't had a foothold in ages. Not only that, but allies you once trusted have become distant…The MacNiels vying for more official leadership. It's all rather fortunate isn't? Much easier to take over a splintered city."  
  
"Divide and conquer," Nines says.  
  
"Exactly. Do you know of a man by the name of Carson Gill?"  
  
"Can't say I do," Nines replies.  
  
"An unpleasant sycophant currently living in San Francisco," he says tersely and in a way Nines reads as forcibly casual, "when Strauss didn't grasp at the opportunity to take the role of Prince, I gathered information from Camarilla cities nearby to gather an idea of who might be a contender. He's been investing and seeking to buy, several properties in LA under a series of aliases."  
  
He looks up at Nines, "Much of this I had been monitoring before…that particular fiasco. It's always smart to be aware of what vultures may be flying overhead. You know Tara Kearny, yes?"  
  
His face drops - of course he knew of the once Anarch that jumped at the chance to hold the Cammy title of San Diego Prince, when the chips were down, "The turncoat. I've heard she's been talking about LA."  
  
"And I've heard she's been in talks with Gill," LaCroix says, this time leaning in conspiratorially, "It's far too much coincidence, isn't it? The fractures in Anarch support haven't been cut so deep in over 60 years and now you've got the thin-bloods and the MacNiels, and the Sabbat ever-growing…it makes it too easy for someone else to come in, take over while everyone is busy squabbling."  
  
"Are you implying the Camarilla would go as far to encourage Sabbat growth?" Nines says, simultaneously shocked and angered by the conclusion.    
  
"Wouldn't you say your adversaries are suddenly more well-armed and growing faster than can be accounted for? Why would the MacNiels turn on you now, when you've never been anything but an ally?"  
  
Before Nines can respond, LaCroix continues, "I know you've noticed, you're too smart and have been doing this for too long. That's why they want to get rid of you first."  
  
Nines' responding smile is wound back tight with bitterness, "Like you tried to do?"  
  
Lacroix sits back and unabashedly does not break Nines' gaze, "Yes."  
  
It's too bold, to so directly acknowledge the bitter blood between them. He has to let out a shaky exhale so as to not see red, "You have a lot of fucking nerve, you know that?" he says.  
  
"Take it as a compliment. I saw you for the threat you were."  
  
"Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere cape, if everything you're saying is true, I'm going to need things more concrete than speculation."  
  
"I have a plan if that's substantial enough for you," LaCroix says and flips around the laptop to show a meticulously detailed spreadsheet, "There are ways to slow them down significantly."  
  
He can't help the way anger rises with little need for provocation, "But what makes you think I need you to do any of that?"  
  
LaCroix's eyes widen with the desperation of a lawyer trying to win a case, of a prisoner on death row bargaining for more time, "I have the locations and deeds of properties being bought. I have a list of suspicious names and arms dealers and events of interest. I've already done the leg work for you so let me help. The chaos will only worsen from here."  
  
Nines' first instinct is to say no, to get up and curse him out before dragging him outside where they would have fewer witnesses to his anger. It's his willpower that suppresses it and an intimate understanding of himself - he's never been a tactical leader, not one to direct men. It's something past mentors and friends would remark with a sort of romanticism, what a force he would be if he eschewed his philosophies and took charge.  
  
"Let's say we do this. You understand…I'm not trying to become Baron or something like that if you're trying to prop me up like some sort of puppet."  
  
"There's no need for you to be Baron, formally - as long as your influence in the area is strong enough that they dare not to challenge it. MacNeils' leadership is weak and splintered. If they killed you and took over they wouldn't be enough to fill the power vacuum you leave in your wake."  
  
Nines feels distantly that he's being kissed-up to, except he still recalls so clearly the voice of LaCroix's forced professionalism and this, this sounds so starkly different. LaCroix sounds upset, stating facts that anger him but are facts nonetheless.  
  
He moves forward to take a closer look at the computer, but LaCroix shuts the screen before he can, "It's all there, but I've set it so that any wrong password entries will wipe the hard drive," he looks at him, challenging, "Just in case you thought of killing me and taking it all".  
  
Too afraid of dying for his own good, Nines thinks and can't help but laugh. He moves closer in an instance, a hand on the back of his neck pulling him. Angled just so that bystanders might think it an embrace of lovers and politely avert their eyes.  
  
LaCroix tenses under his touch, hands grasping at his wrist betraying far more animal desperation than in the alley - the fear that his bet has been miscalculated even with his hand shown. Nines is playing with his food he knows, but LaCroix's fear is intensely satisfying. He leans against him, to whisper against his ear, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about it. Killing you."  
  
Wildly enough, LaCroix's shoulders tense only for a second before dropping, as if the information relaxes him.  
  
His voice is less than steady when he replies, "What kind of kindred would you be if you didn't?"  
  
Nines isn't sure how good he's ever been at that but says nothing as he stares LaCroix down, weighing an instinctual bloodlust with a deep-seated sense of mercy that's been perpetually dormant since his embrace.

He can tell LaCroix is the type that can't stand silences, that feels the need to talk to fill up dangerous empty space.  
  
"Would you kill me, here, surrounded by kine," he breathes a little laugh, "I'd scream. We needn't always do this song and dance I'm sure."   
  
LaCroix's grip on him hasn't lessened but Nines finally lets go, flashing a smile made of nothing friendly nor kind.  
  
"Just want to keep you on your toes, can you blame me?"  
  
He finds it intensely comical, the way LaCroix's gaze turns murderous in contrast to his diplomatic and monotonous response, "I can't blame you."  
  
Nines stands up, deciding there isn't much more here he needs to hear, isn't sure there's anything else LaCroix could say to undo the wounds a blood hunt leaves on trust. But he doesn't need to know that, "Follow me".  
  
Nines catches the hesitation before he turns away, but knows LaCroix will follow. His hook and line are fragile but he doesn't need it for much longer.  
  
He follows Nines out of the building, past the crowds and security into the parking lot. Not as empty as he would like, but he was careful to leave his car in the quietest of corners. He knows the motions, of leading unsuspecting kine to his car, but that prey is rarely so dangerous. Even without looking he can see LaCroix has all his senses on alert, a battered animal waiting for the next strike. When he reaches for his knife, he'll have to be fast.  
  
But then, LaCroix's footsteps stop and when Nines turns to look at him, his expression is elsewhere - confusion, recognition, and fear flash faster before any can take complete form, transforming into each other before birth.  
  
Nines can register what's happening but barely believes it; LaCroix acts faster than him, and pulls him down by his arm to take cover behind his car: "Shooter!"  
  
The ring of bullets hitting metal sounds and shakes behind him. Passerby kine scream, escaping the car park back onto the streets to avoid the confrontation. His frustration and adrenaline fuel each other and he bites out, "Fuck!"  
  
"It's the MacNiels, I told you, they want to kill you -" LaCroix is rambling but Nines ignores him in favor pulling out of cover and aiming his quickly drawn gun. He's fast, catches one guy in the shoulder before he manages to duck behind another car. He counts two more of them before the bullets start flying again.  
  
He crouches back down after one almost scrapped his ear, "There's at least three of them, but I wouldn't be surprised if they have at least a couple more guys in the wait," he says before one of the windows above their heads shatters, showering them in painful broken glass that there's no way to dodge.

"Shit, we need to get out of here."  
  
As quickly as his inhuman speed allows him, he unlocks both the car doors, LaCroix thankfully not needing anymore direction and following his lead and entering through the backseat. He's starting the car, but the shooters are rushing them when LaCroix reaches over him to take the gun.  
  
The protest dies on his lips with a half-second of eye contact. It's something primal, survival-based that knows to agree when LaCroix says, "You drive, I shoot."  
  
He had never seen the man shoot a gun before, but realizes distantly he wishes he had - there's a lot to learn about a person in the way they hold themselves with a weapon and he has always figured, trapped in an office, a bodyguard always at his side, when would he learn? But LaCroix holds a gun like he's been trained to; like the muscle memory of combat had existed since life.  
  
There's a man Nines vaguely recognizes at the car window as a young brujah he'd seen around before and LaCroix shoots three times, one shot squarely in the guy's stomach and another through his leg. His fall trips up the guys behind him and Nines is able to reverse and swerve, speeding out of the parking lot's chain-link gates. One of them is fast, seems like he could catch up but Nines is zero-to-sixty, fast enough he knocks LaCroix against the door with a particularly reckless maneuver. He hears behind him, LaCroix firing once more for good measure and he runs two red lights, feeling lucky there's little traffic this late. When he finally slows downs is when LaCroix climbs over to sit in the front passenger seat, dropping the gun, safety back on, back into Nines' lap. He isn't sure they've lost them so he just keeps driving.  
  
"I'm going up to the hills to wait it out, I need time in case they're waiting to follow me back to my haven," he says.  
  
LaCroix nods, "Smart".  
  
"Those guys," he starts, eyes firmly on the road, "I recognized the one that got close. He's with the MacNiels'."  
  
_You were right_ , hangs unspoken and Nines isn't sure what it entails further. Actions solidify intentions where words do not and the skin on his arm where LaCroix pulled Nines to safety feels like an ever-present burn.  
  
LaCroix is silent, for once, both of them sitting in the events of the night as if the passing quiet might grant them more clarity. Nines focuses on driving, on the dark, winding road that leads them above the city and parks the car at the first viewing point they find. Sharing a silence with LaCroix is uncomfortable, so he lets himself out of the car, suffocating, once they approach a rail overlooking the city. The night air is chill enough to be soothing, even when he hears LaCroix exit the car behind him.  
  
He doesn't get tired of the views of Los Angles - dusty and bustling, concrete carved into desert. Weathered in ways Nines could spot with endeared intimacy. A city he knows better than any one person. The vista is a comfort.   
  
LaCroix waits for him to have his moment, arms crossed and waiting by the hood of the car. He turns around to look at him, the man so different from the memory Nines has of him - cuts from broken glass mean blood marring his pretty face, and everything about his body language a far cry from the self-assured pompousness that marked his reign as Prince. His expression seems permanently more worried, and angry about the existence of said worries and he holds himself as trying to steel himself. Falls from grace hurt and Nines thinks it's exactly what LaCroix needed, to have all his wealth and power stripped from him and have to scrappily fight his way back up from the bottom.

There's too much to process. 

"I knew Jeremy MacNeil, before everything," Nines begins, "Been nothing but loyal since the beginning…for this group using his name to just -," he stops himself, he's not looking for comfort from LaCroix and doesn't want to be mistaken. He tries again, "I think you're right, about there being other factors at play. Even just three months ago, I wouldn't have guessed this."  
  
Nines is hardly the type to find himself at a loss for words, indecisiveness a foreign color on him. LaCroix watches him so intently and Nines wonders if he feels similarly. Before he can say more, he's cut off by the ringing of his phone. The caller ID isn't unusual, but worries him nonetheless, "Yes?"  
  
"Nines!" Damsel's voice is panicked, as if out of breath.  
  
Tension is immediate, "What's up? Are you safe?"  
  
"What you said about the MacNiels was right, a bunch of them stormed the Last Round and one was snooping around the safe house…It's just good goddamn luck Skelter and I were out."  
  
"Shit. They came after me too," before Damsel can exclaim, he continues, "I'm fine though. Do you think Issac could lend you two a room for tonight?"  
  
He's not sure Isaac would want anything to do with this, but he thinks they have a decent chance at exploiting a Toreador's soft side rather than just sticking it out on their own.  
  
"Maybe, we can try. If not, we'll find another motel for tonight. What about you?"  
  
"I'll find something," he says, "Get yourself somewhere safe, we can regroup tomorrow."  
  
"Okay, you too. Call though, if you need anything?"  
  
"Of course," he says. When hangs up, LaCroix has already walked over closer to him.  
  
"I have an extra room in my safe house near Santa Monica…no one will look for you in the spare apartment of a dead man."  
  
"You might have helped out back there, but you'll forgive me if I think asking me to move in with you is moving a bit too fast."  
  
LaCroix scoffs, annoyed, "Sunrise is less than a couple hours away, don’t make me out to be the fool for being practical. Just lock the door and leave tomorrow."  
  
As if a locked door would save either of them should the instinct to maim arise. Nines can't help but stare at this phantom, still waiting for the other shoe to drop and for LaCroix to plunge a knife into his back with a maniacal cackle, like a villainous caricature.  
  
"Fine, stay elsewhere, just take me back into the city so I can call a cab -,"  
  
"Just shut up, I'll take you," Nines says, angerly walking back to the car but LaCroix stops him grabbing him by the wrist.  
  
He pulls away - doesn't want LaCroix to get used to reaching for him, doesn't want to get used to casual touching himself. Nothing will undo grudges like flesh.  
  
LaCroix's expression is something severe, something determined. "Nines, listen to me. I don't…'half-ass' things. Do you understand?" he says, "When I commit to something, I see it through as far as it'll take me."  
  
Even if it leads to dark places and death, Nines knows. He finds this LaCroix's new intensity intoxicating, branding him with its strange allure. He feels even more susceptible to it unsure and alone, the city bellow them their only backlight, especially when it mirrors his own so curiously. Who would have thought?  
  
"C'mon, let's go," he says and LaCroix relents.  
  
He gives him the address in the car and the drive back still manages to be less tense than the drive there. It's happening too fast: how quickly his wired instincts have managed to rewrite LaCroix from code red threat to something other. Even in his old age, such things adapt fast. When he pulls up to the apartment in Santa Monica, he's surprised to find the building non-descript, no marks of the luxury he imagines LaCroix must have enjoyed in his previous life.  
  
"It won’t be safe for you to stay in Los Angeles much longer if things continue the way they are," LaCroix says as he parks.  
  
"I know," Nines says.  
  
When LaCroix gets out of the car, Nines follows. They meet eyes and LaCroix, thankfully, does not comment on his change of mind - says nothing until they take the elevator up to his floor and walk into the modest apartment.  
  
"The door on the left is the guest room. No windows, you can rest there for the day."  
  
Nines nods but gives no words of thanks.  
  
When he goes into the room, he locks the door - absurdly - before kicking off his shoes and stripping down into his underwear. He hides his loaded gun underneath the mattress and keeps his pocket knife sheathed and under his pillow.  
  
When he lays down to rest, he can hear LaCroix through the paper-thin walls going through his nightly routine. He fixates on it easily, imagining him washing in the shower, putting on his sleepwear, moving around the room busily before finally laying down to rest. He wonders if he feels as tense as he does, sleeping so close to a predator.   
  
But when the sun comes up, Nines is asleep.  
  



End file.
